It turns out that Harry's new place needs at least a few more days until the renovation is complete.
Harry doesn't seem happy with the news because apparently he looks forward to moving in to the new place – at least that's what I heard him say on the phone last night – and that he's very disappointed with the interior designer because she's worked for him before and this has never happened.
Why it suddenly happens, neither Harry and I have a clue, but if I have to guess I think it has something to do with the universe wanting to torture me by having me sleep in the same bed as Harry for another few more nights. Sure there are pillows separating us from each other but sometimes during the night, I would wake up and notice that I've almost broken the barrier; I could only hope Harry has never woken up to see how close I've gotten to him whilst I sleep.
Granted, I push that thought to the back of my mind as soon as I step inside Harry's – our – house. Upon realising that he wouldn't be home for at least another two hours, I make my way straight to the bathroom. The hot air circulating the bathroom immediately makes me feel at ease despite the tension that clings to my bone since this morning until I've finished work, and I have to admit that it's one of the few reasons that makes me feel less miserable here.
Music from my playlist does the trick in drowning the sound of my thoughts circulating my mind and so does the hot shower because showers in general have always been good in washing away the thoughts of a bad day.
Besides, Harry's absence in this place means having zero control over shower singing. I can belt out all of the lyrics that I know without having to worry that he can hear me. Or worse of all, record me without me realising it.
The moment my playlist has reached its end, I step out of the shower and reach for the baby doll pink towel that Harry has gotten for me and wrap it around my wet body. The towel falls inches short of my knees and although this length never bothers me before, it bothers me now knowing that Harry can see me in this; he must've bought this for that sole purpose.
He's despicable.
Still humming, I make sure that my towel is secured around my body, just below my armpits. However, my humming is halted when I hear a banging sound outside of the room. Harry isn't supposed to be home yet; that's what his text messages told me earlier today.
In that moment, my heart plummets. My shaky fingers grasp the door handle of the bathroom door, unsure if opening is the smartest idea. It's not impossible that someone has just broke into this house. Everything in this house costs a fortune, after all.
As I press my ear against the door, I hear movement ricocheting throughout the place and that's when my heart really begins pounding. My heart beats so fast, so much so that I'm surprised it's not on the floor besides my wet feet.
Holding the towel closer, I open the door slowly, making sure that I'll make no sound. Drips from my hair soak my exposed shoulders and run further down the formerly clean towel. I try to tiptoe, afraid of falling because of the wetness of my toes.
As I listen closely, I come to a conclusion that the motions sound like the mysterious person may be in the living room or the kitchen.
Despite wanting to hide in the bedroom, my feet take me closer to the source of the sound. When the intruder, not really an intruder after all, turns around, my throat lets out a scream. Although I'm aware of the fact that the person standing a few feet away from me is just bloody Harry, it doesn't stop the scream.
I take a few steps back, my feet choosing now to betray me as I land on the ground with a loud thud.
Harry watches me, towel and all, hit the floor. In that moment, I'm not sure who's more surprised: me, who scrambles to pick up the towel, or Harry, who quickly clasps his hand over his eyes as soon as he realises what's happening. I'm pretty sure he does that because he doesn't want to get screamed at for checking out my soaking wet figure – good.
